Two Days, Three Weeks, Four Months
by toestastegood
Summary: [JohnBobby] John was sure that this was Bobby’s fault. [Companion piece to Four Months, Three Weeks, Two Days]


A/N : Companion piece to Four Months, Three Weeks, Two Days; John's PoV. Strictly AU after X2 now that X3 has aired.

* * *

John was sure that this was Bobby's fault. This whole goddamn mess. The bruise on his face, the loss of his lighter, the Brotherhood, the fires, _everything_. Bobby's fault. It wouldn't take long for John to twist reality in his mind so that all the blame could logically be pinned on his old friend. 

Better yet, why not blame it on Rogue? Things had been fine before she turned up. Things had been _perfect_, or as close to perfect as things ever got for St. John Allerdyce, which wasn't all that close.

Xavier had said he'd been missing for nearly five months. John had just nodded and pretending that was no big deal. Five months was nothing. It was tiny. Insignificant.

At the same time, it was everything and John was sure that Xavier knew that. Five months. John pretended, even to himself, that he hadn't been counting it any more accurately than that (two days, three weeks, four months), that he didn't know exactly how much of his life so far that had been (3 percent), that he thought it wasn't important (it was).

He leaned back against the cushy seat that the Professor had placed him in, and tried to stay calm. Frankly, he was surprised that he hadn't been killed the second he was spotted walking up towards the school. He was a little disappointed by that. Death would have been nice.

A laser beam to the chest, lightning bolt through his body, even three long metal claws piercing his skin would have been a relief. He'd come here looking for the end. Instead, he was being given a new beginning.

"Of course, we'll need to discuss your… rehabilitation later. It can wait until morning, though." Xavier suggestion, his blue eyes twinkling despite the early hour. Lucky him – Jon hadn't had a good night's rest since he'd left the school months ago. Xavier nodded. "Your room is still your room, John - "

"Pyro." He corrected almost automatically, but he didn't want to be 'Pyro' any more. He didn't want to burn down buildings and kill innocent people. That wasn't who he was; that was never who he wanted to be.

"-_John_. Your bed is exactly as you left it." Xavier continued on as if he hadn't been interrupted. John wanted to think him for that, but didn't. A guy's gotta hang onto a little pride.

Truthfully, he didn't think he could just slip back into this life like the teachers were expecting him to. His bed was the same; his life was different. He was different. His friends were different. Bobby…

Aw, crap. Bobby was going to kill him – John thought he'd be almost glad of that. Death by ice wasn't all that bad. There was worse; he'd seen Magneto do worse, and had heard stories from Mystique _about _worse. Pulling the iron right out of someone's body; John knew for a fact that he was never going to die like that.

No, when his time came, it had to be cold. Cold enough to freeze his ever-burning fire. Ice. Not just any ice either. Bobby's ice. John thought he'd like it. He'd probably get off on it, on being killed by Bobby. He always had been a sick fuck. Now he wondered if Bobby would enjoy too, finally getting revenge on the person that had betrayed him.

If their positions were reversed, John would enjoy it. But Bobby was nothing like John, and that was what made him so damn special. He had every right to beat the hell out of John's ass, but he wouldn't. He was too good, too noble, too _Bobby _to do that.

Moments and lifetimes later, they were walking through hushed corridors. This time tomorrow, the hallways would be filled with bustling students and contagious gossip. Now, the only sounds were two pairs of footsteps, the Professor's wheels, and Ms. Munroe's accent.

Xavier had fallen silent, his mutation letting him know that John's attention was lost. John scowled down at the ground as if it was responsible for all his problems. Maybe it was – it was as good a thing to blame as anything or anyone else.

"You will, of course, have to attend private lessons with the Professor for the first few weeks. You've lost a lot of ground; it'll take some effort to catch up with the other pupils." He nodded, barely hearing her words seeing as they had stopped outside his and Bobby's room. Flaming hell, what had he been thinking, coming back here?

Ms. Munroe sighed, and opened the door. "We shall talk tomorrow, John." He nodded vaguely, staring at the dark beyond the door. "In the meantime, get some sleep. I'm sure you've earned the rest." Earned it how? By killing people? By betraying his friends? No rest for the wicked, wasn't that how it was supposed to go?

"Yes, John. It's a relief to have you back in the school." He grunted in response to the Professor's words, holding his tongue. No smart alec remarks. He was going to be a good boy now. "I know Bobby will be pleased to have you back." His eyes snapped back to Xavier, and a thousand emotions flashed across his face before he managed to contain them and just shrug. Still, Xavier's eyes twinkled and John held back the urge to spit at them. This good boy stuff was hard work.

John nodded at the two teachers to say goodnight, stepped into the room and closed the door. That familiar Bobby-smell hit him – indefinable and inconclusive, but it always smelled like the closest thing to home that he had.

"Like hell he will be." He murmured, unable to keep that one remark to himself. He made his way through the room to the lamp by his old bed, switching it on then sitting down.

He stared down at his hands, at the gloves there. A gift from Magneto – he'd used them to burn down his first building. A lab, working on a 'cure' for mutations. A few weeks later, he'd gotten an adrenaline rush from burning down one of the scientist's homes. The rush had faded when he realised that he could hear screams, even above the deafening crackle of the flames.

"You're back." Two words, but John didn't look up. He couldn't, he didn't want to see Bobby. Those two words were laced with ice. He shouldn't have come back, he knew that now – this was a save haven for mutants, but not for him.

He sighed, leaned down, and took his shoes off. "Looks like." He wouldn't be back for long, though. They'd get sick of him, give up on him. Everyone always did – now he was just waiting for it.

Silence fell, thick and awkward. He'd never felt guilty about leaving before. He'd regretted it and wished that he'd stayed in the damn jet, but he'd never felt _guilty _until that silence fell. Bobby always had had a habit of uncovering the weirdest emotions in him.

"I've missed you." Bobby's words made him look up sharply, stunned. He didn't get it, didn't understand. Insults, death threats, 'get out's; he was used to them. Hearing anything other than that…. It just didn't make sense.

He switched the light off quickly, plunging the whole room into a darkness lit only by the red numbers of Bobby's alarm clock. He lay down and slowly drew his legs up to his chest.

He wanted to go home. He just didn't know where that was any more. His eyes closed and he wished away thoughts of fire and Magneto and the Brotherhood and especially Bobby.

He didn't turn around or make a single sound when he heard footsteps behind him, or when the bed dipped, or when Bobby lay down behind him. He didn't say a word when Bobby slipped an arm around his waist. He kept his eyes shut and tried not to panic.

This wasn't normal. Even before he'd left, this wouldn't have been normal. Maybe he'd been stupid to hope that things would go back to the way they'd been two days, three weeks and four months ago. He leaned back against Bobby, and tugged the other's arm tighter around him – maybe he didn't want to do back to that.


End file.
